


March 25th, S.R. 1419

by Lindelea



Series: March 25th, S.R. 1419 [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Tooks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:21:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23316796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindelea/pseuds/Lindelea
Summary: The Thain and his wife await the ending of the world, or perhaps a new beginning.
Relationships: Eglantine Banks/Paladin Took II
Series: March 25th, S.R. 1419 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676794





	1. Chapter 1

The day dawned grey and drear, and though the Sun could be seen in the sky, behind a covering of high clouds, She seemed impotent, her light feeble, scarcely brightening the day. Somehow the air felt ever more close as the hours wearily passed, even though a cold wind was blowing steadily from the direction of the Northfarthing, that had sprung up in the night hours and continued to rise throughout the day. Mistress Eglantine, after seeing to all the necessary tasks, and seeking to fill her time and thoughts with some that were unnecessary into the bargain, simply to be _doing_ something, did not miss her husband at first. For of course, Thain Paladin was out and about, busy formulating plans for the defence of the Tookland, talking with his heads, especially the hunters, from whom the bulk of the border defences and spies had been drawn, and farmers, who must plough and plant even though they were under siege, for all practical purposes. Perhaps even more so _because_ of that state of affairs. 

But when Paladin missed taking the noontide meal with her (and she hadn't seen him since early breakfast), Eglantine decided it was time to put her foot down. After some searching and more questioning of various hobbits in the Great Smials, Eglantine found herself blowing hard breaths, her shawl clutched around her shoulders, as she toiled up the side of the massive hill facing the Great Smials, nearly to the top. Paladin was sitting upon the hillside, on the cold grass, as if he were a heedless tween and not Thain of all the Shire. An archer stood to either side, cloaks blowing in the wind, and four others, she knew (though she could not see them) lay in hiding atop the hill, watching in all directions in the event some harm should approach and threaten the Thain, even here, in the midst of the Green Hills. 

'Come down this great hill; come inside, love,' she said when she'd caught her breath somewhat, resting a hand upon his shoulder, and her voice sharpened as she added, 'before you catch your death out here!' 

To her surprise, she felt him shudder beneath her light touch, and when he looked up, his eyes were full of tears. ' _Why would anyone want to run after death, to try and catch Him, is what I'd like to know!_ So young Pip would say when you scolded him for going out without his jacket...' 

She found herself blinking back her own tears...but _one_ of them needed to be practical at the moment, and in this moment, it wasn't her husband doing the work. 

'You should come in,' she said more gently. 

But he spoke as if he had not heard. 'How many Tooks have I sent to their deaths today?' he said. When she caught her breath sharply in distress, he lifted his hand to hers, still resting on his shoulder, and clung to her as if seeking strength if not comfort. 'How many of those I sent out this morning to gather information from the Outer Shire will Lotho's Men hunt down and take to the Lockholes, where I hear they have decided to see how long a hobbit can go without feeding him?' 

'I –' she said at a loss. 'But you cannot simply close the border and sit behind it, you said so yourself! Not knowing what devilry they might be planning... you swore to protect the Shire-folk!' She added lower, thinking of the impossible task that had been set before her husband bare years earlier, 'All who would look to you, that is. The Outerlands are a lost cause; they listened to Lotho and his promises, they believed in his assurances of gold and good fortune.' She couldn't keep the bitterness from her voice as she said, 'And look where it has got them.' 

She squeezed his shoulder. 'At least you saw him for what he was,' she said. He'd said to Lotho, come to offer false tears in pretended sympathy at their loss of their only son, _If anyone is going to play the chief at this time of day, it'll be the right Thain of the Shire and no upstart._

Her husband tilted his head further to look up at her, searching her eyes. 'Is it enough,' he said, 'to set traps and dig pits? For the ruffians have been growing ever bolder, and the threat of arrows is not enough to hold them back any longer. But at what risk to the Tooks who taunt them and scamper before them and lead them into the traps, to give them pause in crossing the borderlands?' His eyes anguished, he said, 'Did I do wrong in turning Pimple Sackville-Baggins away? Ought I have bowed and scraped to him instead? Met him with a smile as false as his own and pretended respect and cooperation?' 

'My dear,' she said, at a loss. 

He shook his head and stared straight ahead at the Smials, at the courtyard that was now empty, though but a few hours ago, riders had departed in all directions. Some would leave their ponies at the border and creep into the Outer Shire on foot to gather information that Paladin could use to craft his defensive strategies on behalf of all Tooklanders; others would trade places with those already guarding the borders and who would return to the Great Smials on the same pony for some relief from their demanding task – a hot meal, a bath, a stretch of sound sleep before returning to guard the border once more. 

'They swore an oath to defend me,' he said. 'And in defying Lotho, it seems I have only strengthened his resolve to have the Tookland under his thumb... his Big Men grow ever more numerous and determined.' His voice broke. 'I am undone – I, who swore an oath to defend the Tooks and Tooklanders... and now I send them out, to die for me? What presumption!' 

She suddenly plumped herself down on the hillside beside him, and even as he gazed at her in astonishment, she said firmly, 'For _all_ Tooks and Tooklanders!' Meeting his eyes, demanding his full attention, she said, 'They are laying down their lives for _all_ of us! Not just one poor benighted farmer-turned-Thain, but for us all!' 

In a lower voice, but losing none of her urgency, she said, 'Don't you remember the reports we heard, after Pip –' her voice broke on the name, but she cleared her throat and forged determinedly on, 'how waggonloads of food were leaving the Shire, the life-blood of the Shire-folk, with winter coming on! How Lotho's Men were gathering – and not sharing, for all their promises – and food was increasingly dear and hard to find... 

'O,' she said, unable to keep all bitterness out of her voice, 'I've no doubt Lotho and Lobelia enjoy a groaning table and warm fires, considering he's declared himself Chief of All Outside the Tookland...' Her gaze bored into his. 'But so far, at least, no Tooks nor Tooklanders have gone wanting for basic food or shelter or wood or coal to warm them through the cold months. _Our_ labours, at least, have not gone southwards in waggons!' She put an arm around him and squeezed hard. 'And they can thank the Thain for that!' 

As if he had not heard a word, he said, 'I cannot explain it, my love. A growing fear is on me, a feeling of dread, creeping into my very bones with its deadly chill.' 

She shivered and nestled closer, and his arm went around her in return. The two clung together as if facing a gathering storm, as if a greater wind than the one blowing at the moment would sweep them from the hillside and into oblivion. 

But then the wind died altogether, and the Sun, already dim, bleared in the sky as the light failed. Eglantine heard one of the archers cry out, though his voice sounded vague and indistinct, as if smothered even as it emerged from his lips. And then all sounds from the Great Smials below them or in the surrounding Green Hills were hushed: neither wind, nor voice, nor bird-call, nor rustle of leaf, nor whinny of a pony nor lowing of a cow nor baaing of sheep...nor their own breath could be heard; the very beating of their hearts was stilled. Time halted. 

Clasping each other tightly, the Thain and Mistress of Tookland waited for they knew not what. Eglantine was vaguely aware of the archers to either side of them crouching low, thrusting their bows into the sky above them and holding them aloft as if to ward off a threatened blow. 

Then presently, a tremor ran through the earth, and they felt the very hillside beneath them quiver. A sound like a sigh went up from all the Green Hill country about them; and their hearts beat suddenly again...and a great wind rose and blew...and the Sun regained her brightness, as if She had suddenly remembered how to shine. The shouts of their guardian archers rang out clearly now, and Eglantine, drawn by the movement, saw one of them send his bow cartwheeling high into the air and catch it again. Below them, doors were thrown open and hobbits poured out of the Great Smials into the courtyard, and out of the dwellings and shops and businesses of Tuckborough in an ever-growing throng. 

Below them, the waters of the Tuckbourn shone like silver, and the sound of joyous singing wafted to them from the courtyard of the Great Smials and the streets of Tuckborough below, from the archers to either side of them and from the top of the great hill. Joy welled up in Eglantine's heart, from what source, she could not tell, but when she looked deeply into Paladin's eyes, she saw a reflection of her own elation. 

'It is going to be all right,' the Thain whispered, his voice incredulous. 

Somehow Eglantine found within herself the courage and determination that had kept her, all these months, after the disappearance of her youngest child and only son, through increasingly bleak times that promised to turn desperate, and sooner than later, or so it had seemed to her, even as she endeavoured to bolster her husband's spirits through it all. Striking Paladin smartly on the arm, she said firmly, 'O' course it is! Isn't that what I've been telling you all this time?' 

*** 

_Author's note: Some small part of the text was borrowed from "The Steward and the King" and "The Scouring of the Shire" in **The Return of the King** by J.R.R. Tolkien and woven into the narrative. I promise, I make no profit from this and seek only to offer encouragement, and homage to the Professor for the great gift he left us._


	2. The 25th of March, S.R. 1419, the Woody End

_March 25, 1419_  
 _Just outside the borders of the Tookland, in the Woody End_

Three hobbits crouch in the brambles, in the early-morning darkness. They’ve crept as close as they dare to the fire, even given the quiet with which a hobbit moves. 

Reginard Took--who, being heir apparent to the Thain now that Pippin’s gone and got himself eaten by spooks in the Old Forest, really ought not to be here--pulls at Ferdi’s arm. 

Ferdibrand Took shakes his head, and realising that the others won’t see in the darkness, takes hold of an arm of each of the others and gives a firm downwards tug. _Stay_. 

And so they listen, scarcely breathing, their faces black with soot, their clothes dark as the shadows that hide them, to the talk that rises and falls, the jests, the coarse laughter, the boasts. 

The ruffians who burned the Crowing Cockerel are seeking revenge. Aye, they’ll march into the Tookland, none of this polite business, following at Lotho’s heels like so many trained hounds, but striding, crushing the new-growing crops under their boots, crushing any of the Shire-rats that stumble into their path, until they reach the Great Sty where the so-called Thain cowers. 

So hobbits thought to stop the Men who burned the Cockerel, did they? So they took out their little toy bows and shot toy arrows? (Needless to say, more than one Man died, and no hobbits were injured, but all the Shire-folk escaped, thanks to the Tooks.) 

Perhaps there is an edge to the raucous laughter. Ferdi hopes so, for he’s the one who convinced Regi to listen, to give him a chance to set the traps. A hunter he’s been, nearly half his life now, and he knows his traps, the nooses and the trip lines, the bent trees and covered pits, and ruffians are simply vermin of a larger sort, fair game, are they not? Even if the aim is to keep them out of the Tookland, and not to harm or kill, well, traps are traps. 

And under his shirt, torn from the tree where it was nailed, there is a paper with his name on it, and Regi’s, and yes, Hilly beside him, Hilly's name and his brother Tolly's into the bargain, though Ferdi and Hilly have never seen eye-to-eye. Wanted alive, it says. Wanted for what, Ferdi wonders. He has a good idea, having heard of the farmer who was put down his own well when he tried to stop thieving ruffians from “gathering” his chickens, and he's heard whispers of the life--if you could call it that--in the Lockholes. 

And deep down inside, there’s a desperate sinking feeling. The ruffians are not many, scarcely a score, but they’re large, twice the size of a hobbit, and they’re angry, and they sound nasty, and they sound both determined and confident. Most of them have clubs, and a few have bows, and Ferdi’s seen the flash of long, wicked knives in the firelight. 

And even if these are trapped, from their talk there are more, ever so many more in the Shire, and more arriving each day. Lotho must be mad, to _invite_ these “guests” to come and stay, to overrun the Shire like... like vermin. 

At last he’s heard enough, and he gives another tug, a backwards tug, to the arms on either side, and the hobbits ease away from the fire and the talk. It is time to check the traps a final time, and then, some time this day, the battle will be at hand. 

‘So, our names are on a warrant, are they?’ Regi whispers when they are well away. 

‘Wanted “alive” for what reason?’ Hilly says. ‘I wager they’re not all that interested in our good health.’ 

Ferdi is silent, thinking of the burning of the inn, and the rage of the ruffians, and how they’d blustered and threatened to set all the buildings ablaze with the hobbits inside (...but the hobbits had already fled, at the urging of the Tooks who’d been there). He lets Hilly’s comment go, for there’s no need to speak, and for some reason Hilly bears him, Ferdi, ill will. Perhaps he blames Ferdi for letting Pippin go off into the Wilds, for not telling the Thain that his son was going to follow Frodo Baggins to his death. No, that’s not it. He’s had it in for Ferdi since Ferdi can remember, for no reason Ferdi could fathom. He shrugs his shoulders, as one who eases tense muscles, and moves to check the fine fishing line, the first tripwire in the line of traps. 

And after all the traps are checked, and the Sun is rising, well on her way to the nooning, and the birds ought to begin their singing for very belated they are this morning indeed, and the dread is growing in Ferdi’s heart; and on his companions’ blackened faces he reads the same doubt, the fighting of fear. The Woody End is silent, as if the birds and small creatures are hidden away, frightened by the Men in their midst. Or perhaps it is something greater that frightens them, for the fear, it is growing, growing in Ferdi’s heart, choking him until he can scarce draw breath. 

And in the silence of the wood the laughter rings, harsh and triumphant, and the blood roars in Ferdi’s ears, as he’d imagined the roar of battle, hearing old Bilbo tell the tale of the Five Armies, and he quails, he sinks down, his companions follow suit, all of them pressed into the ground by their fear, and the knowing, and the not-knowing. And it seems as if the wind that rustled the leaves in the early morning is also fear-stifled, for it dies, and the Sun is bleared, and all sounds in the Woody End are hushed: neither wind, nor voice, nor bird-call, nor rustle of leaf, nor their own breath can be heard; the very beating of their hearts seems stilled. Time itself halts. 

And the hobbits cower, pressed to the ground, and still they wait, for the Men’s assault, they think, for they can imagine no other reason for this unreasoning fear. So still are they, so taut with listening, that they feel the tremor that runs through the earth; faint it is, as if it has travelled a long journey, and then a sound like a sigh goes up from all the Woody End around them; and their hearts beat suddenly again. 

And all of a sudden they hear the Men’s voices, closer, and the crashing their boots make, walking through the woods, but it doesn’t matter, and the traps are well-planned and strong, and Ferdi leaps to his feet, his heart inexplicably as light now as it was heavy before, and a grin splits his face, and he raises his voice in a mocking song. 

_Catch me, catch me, catch me if you ca-an!_

And he’s scarcely aware of it, but Regi and Hilly have leapt to their feet as well, and are echoing the taunt, and the crashing grows louder, the Men are shouting, an arrow flies past Ferdi’s ear, and he turns and flees... 

All three hobbits flee, feigning terror, falling (not really) and getting up, limping as if injured, luring the Men along. They pass over the first tripwire and run on, a deadly race but ruffians are not so good with the bow as Tooks, perhaps, and none of the arrows find their mark. 

And behind them the crashing becomes something more, as it is not only Men’s boots but their bodies that smash into into the ground, and the arrows stop. Not all the Men rise to follow the limping hobbits, tantalized as they are, like a hunter following a broken-winged bird. 

Not far now, and the first scream rings through the woods, as a bent tree snaps suddenly straight, carrying with it a Man, snared by the ankle, dangling in the air, wildly gesticulating to a world turned wrong-side up. 

The others who step into the waiting snares have not enough warning to avoid their fate, and soon a fine bevy of “birds” hang flapping their wings. 

And hobbits can jump, quite wide they can, and so the three spring over the covered pits, and the rest of the following ruffians are too heated with dark passions and murderous anger to take heed, and so in they fall, and it will be some time before they can climb out again, and cut their dangling fellows free... 

And the hobbits stop their headlong, limping flight, and panting, laugh, and slap each other’s backs, yes, even Hilly slaps Ferdi on the shoulder, and congratulates him on the success of the scheme. 

And Regi calls back, his voice high and clear and mocking, ‘And if you’d like another helping, there’s plenty more where _that_ came from!’ 

And leaving their guests to the hospitality of the wood, the Tooks creep away, their chuckles louder than their footfalls, as is only proper when one steps over the border into Tookland. 

And for the first time, Ferdi’s doubts are laid to rest. Aye. They’ll keep the ruffians out of the Tookland. The Thain has the right of it. 

*** 

_A/N: A small amount of text was borrowed directly from "The Steward and the King", from The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien._


End file.
